You barely press against an old wooden door when a sliver of light spills out from the crack. You aren't sure if you meant to intrude or not, but here you are. Your heart beats faster as you try to quiet your breaths. There's people talking inside, a hushed conversation. You can slightly make out two men standing in a back room. One is a young man, perhaps in his upper teens, and the other is the old man, most likely in his late sixties or early seventies. "Did that girl ever show up?" says the younger man. "Not yet," the older man replies. "It's pretty damn late for a dame to be out on the streets, ain't it? Unless she's some kind of tomato. Are ya gonna help her?" The older man shrugs. "Maybe I'll put you to the task, getcha to pull your weight around here more." "What exactly would I have to do, anyway, Gramps?" The younger man frowns. "Dunno exactly," the older man says with a shrug. "Months and months ago I was told what I should do when she arrived, and my memory ain't what it used to be, sonny. The boss never told me anything really specific." "Boss?" the younger man repeats. "Ain't that you? Who is the boss if not you?" The older man sits down in a chair and sighs. "That's privileged information." "Come on, Gramps. I won't tell anyone." The older man cracks a smile. "Rich K Hazelnut II." Your brow furrows. You've never heard of him in your life. Does it even matter? You suppose it must, if he had a hand in this whole thing. Who is Rich K Hazelnut II? |